The Pamphlet Collection of Sir Robert Stout: Volume 87
Lord Johnny Martin
Lord Johnny Martin.
July 31st, 1878.
I tould ye in my last tiligram that I felt a little faverish, and that I was undher Mrs. M.'s thratement. Well, on the mornin' o' the openin' o' Parlimint the Markiss dhruv up to me offiss, an' sint the Usher o' the Black Rod in to call me out to attind the sarmony, but be the hokey I couldn't lave the house, an' more-be-token I'm not able to go out ist yit, as I've a musthard blisther to me clist, besides a pair o' flannel thrunks on me legs. As me bedroom is on the top story, a frind o' mine has advised me to thry Slesinger's Room-attic Balsam, and maybe ye'd sind me a bottle or two up.
Begorra the Markiss was mighty put out bekaise I couldn't attind, as the House seemed so lonely widout me. In the coorse o' the same day, I re-cayved the followin' note from his Lordship:—
Me Dear Paddy,—I was mighty sorry to hear that ye couldn't attind the Openin', so I was. Sure as yerself was the principal concocther o' the Speech, yer presence would have given me confidence in its delivery. The press and the gineral public thinks there's a dale o' grit in the composition. A grate many people think that a Governor's billet is a sinnycure, but begorra if they knew the decaite a boy in my position has to practice they'd alther their opinion, so they would. Av coorse you know Paddy Allanah what me rale sintiments are on New Zayland Polyticks, an' you can aisily concaive how mighty small I felt in givin' vint to the discoorse put into me mouth be yerself an' yer collaiges. Be jabers I was ashamed to look the mimbers forninst me in tbe face, and bad scran to it, I felt as if I had as big a bump of idayality as Captain Jackson Barry. I sind ye wid this letther a limonaid bottle-full av some ginuine Innshowen, imported be meself. Tell the aid-to-cong that fetches this how yer gettin' on, and believe me yours fraternally,
Och be-the-hushty, that's Irish nate
It's manin', boys, is hould yer prate,"
Another Lord has tuk his saite,
Be jabers it's divartin'
To see the Peers that rule the roast,
It's noble blood they all can boast,
Thin fill yer glasses an' we'll toast,
The great Lord Johnny Martin.
Though Johnny does not flaunt a three
Av anshint janyologee,
No uncle in a Dane has he,
Like gintle Misther Barton,
But though he cannot thrace the root,
From which he's sich a worthy root,
Bedad, me boys, he's got the hoot,
The rich Lord Johnny Martin.
His ancesthry, faix jist like mine,
Had no big castles on the Rhine,
The Rhino's more in Johnny's line,
An' he's not slow in partin'.
When Norman Bill from France came in
To England first, he made a din,
But Johnny's shield is made of tin,
The proud Lord Johnny Martin.
No Norman pray-fix—De or Fitz—
Has Johnny to his name, nor bits
Av Howards or Flantaginits
Are claimed by him, that's sartin.
His family can claim no knight,
Although they're daycint people quite,
But Johnny's got the shiners bright—
The wise Lord Johnny Martin.
His sires of ould were niver thramps,
From dirty robber Say-King camps,
His titles seal has betther stamps,
He'll niver be disartin'
Mesilf and collaiges. In our reign
He mounted to the Peers' domain,
From workin' 'mong the sugar cane—
The great Lord Johnny Martin.
Paddy Murphy.